


Delicate

by quicksilverleafs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Drabble, English is not my firts language sorry, M/M, Sad?, Sort Of, fluff?, i don't even know what this is, one-sided Merlin/Arthur Pendragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksilverleafs/pseuds/quicksilverleafs
Summary: Arthur has never been delicate with him. Never in general.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Kudos: 38





	Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! 
> 
> Hope you like this *thing*. It's really short and English is not my firts language, so I apologize if there's any mistake.
> 
> The original work-which is in Spanish- should be on my profile. 
> 
> Have a nice day!
> 
> -Quicksilverleafs

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Arthur has never been delicate with him. Never in general. So when he grabs him by the nape and digs his fingers into his hair with a smile, it definitely surprises him. That even with the abruptness with which he did it, even with his scratchy hand full of calluses and scars from trainings and battles, even being Arthur, it feels like this.

Delicate.

With the thumb under his cheekbone, just going up and down. Hesitant. Careful.

With the little finger smoothing the hair on the back of his neck.

You can't blame Merlin for leaning towards him, can you?

For wanting to drink that touch like a thirsty prisoner. For wanting to keep it under key in a box and, selfishly locked in his room, letting out a bit to remember it.

For wanting to drink that caress that he may never have again, not in that way, that makes his chest burst into flames in a pleasant way - like putting his feet by the fire after walking for hours in the snow, just with his humble cloth boots. That loving stroke that causes heat to spread from his chest in crackling flames to every corner of his frozen body.

For wanting to drink his fingerprints as if he could. As if he, a servant, a man, could even allow himself to accept the gesture of another man like that. Of a king. Engaged with his best friend.

So Merlin drinks every last drop of affection and warmth that Arthur's hand conveys. He covers his nose, closes his eyes, and swallows as if it's some Gaius potion.

He drinks, and when the glass is moved away from his lips, he feels his lungs flood, and somehow, his heart.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°


End file.
